Declan Levine wants a war? He’s got one.
Chapter 2
I wake suddenly while in the process of dry heaving. My stomach lurches violently and my lungs refuse to work properly. Painful, racking coughs erupt up from my throat, as my stomach keeps trying to empty itself of nothing. It’s an effort to even open my eyes fully, but I force them open anyway.
I take stock of myself and my surroundings. I’m lying in a bed, the caress of cotton fabric feeling nice on my skin. I guess it’s a step up from being strapped to a chair like I was before. I don’t feel anything hurting, other than my pounding head and queasy stomach. No broken bones, so that’s good. I focus on moving my arms, and I’m able to raise my hand to my face. No bindings. I’m not tied down.
Dragging in a deep breath, I gulp in a full inhalation of air that fills my lungs. The air smells of lavender, not like the stench of blood or piss I was expecting. Groaning, I sit up too quickly and grab my head when a wave of dizziness hits me hard. I need about ten ibuprofen and a bottle of tequila.
“Rafe, what have you done?” I groan, my heart breaking all over again as my memories return full force. The attack on the house. The syringe. His final words of regret. He stabbed me with a goddamn needle. He drugged me.That son of a bitch!
Then panic rises when I remember him showing me the text I sent to Tessa. What has he done to her? Are Jax and Keane okay? Oh, god. Sarah.
Jolting off the bed, I stumble and fall to my knees when my legs refuse to work.Get up, Andie. Gritting my teeth, I force myself to stand, using the chair beside me as a prop. Even though it’s dark, my eyes have adjusted enough for me to make out the outline of a door. Light peeks in from the cracks around it.
I grab the doorknob and turn, expecting it to be locked. It’s not. It could be a trap. I could open it and be met with guns pointed at my face, just like what happened with Liam at the motel. I’ll take my chances.
Remembering Jax’s knife strapped to my lower calf, I hold the doorknob and bend down, wanting a weapon in hand. Shit! It’s gone. He took my damn knife.
Fuck it. I’ll fight with my bare hands. And when I do get Jax’s knife back, I’m going to slit Rafe from neck to groin with it.
Flinging open the door, I crouch low, expecting an attack. Shouldn’t have done that. I dry heave a couple of times before I’m able to control it. Deep breath in, exhale out.
“Hey, Alex. You’re awake.”
Only one person has ever called me Alex.
“Tessa?” I croak, my voice sounding raspy.
She’s alive. My eyes water at the brightness of the room, and I blink a few times to clear them.
Tessa is sitting on a paisley-upholstered sofa, book in hand, wearing her purple-framed reading glasses. She’s dressed in jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. The short blonde bob she used to wear is now shoulder length. I carefully inspect her from where I’m swaying. She doesn’t look harmed, and I don’t see any signs of bruising or mistreatment.
Tessa pats the sofa cushion beside her. “Come, sit,” she invites me, and I just stare at her.
She’s not acting like anything is wrong. She’s not freaking out like she’s been recently kidnapped. She’s completely calm as if everything is perfectly normal.
When I don’t move, Tessa cocks her head at me and smiles. “You must be thirsty.”
On the coffee table in front of her, there are two glasses and a small pitcher of iced water with lemon and lime slices floating at the top. Pouring a glass, she pats the sofa again.
“Come and sit with me. This will help. Trust me.”
I scrunch my face. “Tessa, what the fuck? You’re acting weird as shit. Where’s Rafe?”
“He’ll be back.”
She slides the glass of water in my direction.
“Where is he?”
Cocking her head the other way, it reminds me of how dogs do that when they don’t understand what their masters are saying.
“Do you want something to eat?”
No, I don’t want any-fucking-thing to eat, I want to scream. I must still be knocked out and unconscious because none of this is making any sense.
My eyes wildly search the room until they land on a door. A way out. My chance to escape. I make a dash for it and throw it open—and slam into a massive brick wall of muscle. Two hands wrap around my upper arms to steady me when I begin to topple backward. I look up at the man I never thought I’d see again. Dark mahogany hair and steel-gray eyes attached to a tall, powerful frame. My angel-turned-devil.
